


tender is the ghost

by heartequals (savvygambols)



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Ghosts, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Podfic Available
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:49:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22235053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/savvygambols/pseuds/heartequals
Summary: “Caler, I’m dead,” says Gravy.“Uh,” says Cale. “Okay, you know what, I’m gonna call an ambulance.”Ryan has cold hands, an open smile, and leaks loneliness. Cale is determined to help.
Relationships: Ryan Graves/Cale Makar
Comments: 28
Kudos: 146
Collections: 2 Hots: #boysarehot Avs Valentines 2020 fic challenge





	tender is the ghost

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [all_ivvant](https://archiveofourown.org/users/all_ivvant/pseuds/all_ivvant) in the [2hots](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/2hots) collection. 

> Thanks to the #boysarehot fam for setting this prompt meme up! Thanks to hatoyona for talking me off a ledge, betaing, and helping me figure out wtf I was doing. Thanks to my hockey babes for everything.
> 
> For the purposes of cuddles and gay sex, Cale does not live with the Calverts during the ‘19 playoffs. For the purposes of clowning Matt Duchene, I made up a Sens game. Everything else is 100% true and actually happened and is real. (I am kidding...unless...)
> 
> Baby’s first Mature rating and it involves ghost sex you truly love to see it
> 
> Title from “Tender" by Blur.
> 
> **Edited to add 4/6/20:** it was recently brought to my attention that Patrick Roy is a domestic abuser and all-around terrible human being! I did not know this when I wrote the fic, having read maybe one-half of one article about him years ago and only part of his wikipedia page. Lesson fucking learned. I apologize profusely for this lapse in bad research judgement but I have decided to keep the scene he is featured in, rather than rewrite it - at this point in the fic's life, and given the feedback I have gotten on it, it seems wrong to go back and change a fairly significant scene that might have affected how people did (or did not) respond to the fic. But consider this a warning and an apology both; I am sorry for not doing my research more carefully and I caution those who do not want to read this man portrayed in a more or less neutral light to either skip the fic or skip the scene, which occurs right after Gravy's big ghostly reveal. Be well <3
> 
>   
**Prompt:**
> 
> Ryan is a ghost who’s been haunting the Colorado Avalanche since they were in Quebec.

Something about Ryan Graves always reminds Joe of Quebec City, has ever since Joe traded for him.

Joe doesn’t know why Gravy reminds him of Quebec City, of the Nordiques. Gravy is a great guy, a hard worker, always smiling, always willing to help a teammate out. He can’t quite crack the line up every night, but it’s a matter of time. And it doesn’t seem to bother the kid either way; he’s always got a smile. A good sport. A gentleman of the old school, Joe always thinks.

But whenever Joe seems Gravy out of the corner of his eye, he’s reminded of Quebec City. He’s reminded of how cold the winters were, how broke the team was, how out of place he felt as a rookie, how lost the team was post-lockout and pre-move, how they had rising fan support but they couldn’t keep up the momentum. How deeply isolated the team had been in the city--how isolated _he_ had been, 19 years old and barely able to read the labels on the cans in the grocery store.

Joe had loved Quebec City in the end, but it was a tough city to love at first. Fuck, he’d been so alone.

Gravy is easy to love on the team. He’s an asset on the Eagles and he’s an asset when he makes the jump to the Avalanche. It’s unfair to think that Gravy could ever make anyone feel as small and alone as Quebec City had made Joe feel when he was starting out.

Joe watches Bednar put the team through their paces in an optional practice, Gravy skating as hard as anyone else. It’s been a couple weeks since Gravy got brought up from the Eagles and Joe and Beds have agreed they’re not sending the kid back down, but he’s still skating like he has something to prove.

He’s a good kid, Gravy. He’ll crack the line up. Joe is sure of it.

Cale is like. Super out of his depth. He just signed a contract with the Avs and he just lost the Frozen Four and he’s living out of a hotel and he’s still not sure whether or not he’s supposed to take his creative writing final and he’s supposed to play his first NHL game in the fucking playoffs and his parents haven’t confirmed whether or not they’ll be able to get to his first game and his team seems really nice but Cale just feels young and stupid around them even though he is, he is pretty sure, not the youngest or stupidest and his boys back in Amherst aren’t responding to his text messages because they’re still pissed at him for losing the Frozen Four and immediately jumping on a plane and on top of it all, his girlfriend broke up with him the minute he told her that he was signing a contract. She didn’t want to be a WAG which is fair but like, he could have used the support through the playoffs. He wasn’t in love with her, but it would have been nice to call someone at the end of the day who wasn’t his parents.

He also cannot figure out how to work the coffee machine in the team hotel’s continental breakfast room.

Cale is really fucking out of his depth. 

He stares at the coffee machine. It’s probably not worth it. Hotel breakfast coffee always kinda sucks. He can live without it, he thinks. He’s really tired but he can do without.

“Hey,” says a voice right in his ear and Cale doesn’t do anything embarrassing like jump or make a high-pitched noise or hit the right button on the coffee machine and have hot coffee come pouring out of the spigot, overflowing in the mug.

“Holy shit,” he says, backing up before it spills all over his pants. They’re sweats, but still. He doesn’t know where the laundry room is in the hotel yet, one more thing that makes him feel like he's sinking when he should be rising this morning.

Someone puts their hand on his shoulder, reaches a long arm over him and hits the button. The coffee stops immediately.

“Sorry,” says the guy, super apologetic. Cale turns around, heart racing, and calms down immediately. Ryan Graves. A teammate. Cale had made it a point to memorize the names and faces of everyone on the roster on his flight to Denver from Amherst. He’d thought Ryan Graves had a friendly face, open and kind. He hadn’t realized how tall the guy was though. But he’s smiling at Cale, eyes lit up like he recognizes Cale and he’s happy to meet him.

“Hey,” says Cale. He smiles back. “Ryan Graves, right?”

“Gravy,” says Ryan. “Cale Makar?”

“Yeah,” says Cale. “I don’t have a nickname.” He tries to think of something else to say and comes up with, “your hands are cold.”

Gravy jumps back, raising his hands, looking sheepish. “Sorry,” he says. “Bad circulation. I guess I need a cup of coffee to warm up, hey?”

“You can have mine,” says Cale, because something about the way Gravy looks at him, open and honest and dark-eyed, makes him want to give everything he has over to keep him happy. “I can get another.”

Gravy shakes his head, gently elbows Cale out of the way. He’s wearing a long-sleeved Avs hoodie but he seems like he’s about to start shivering at any moment. “You go sit down,” he says with a small smile. “I got you.”

Cale says, “oh, man, no, I’m not that useless in the morning, I swear--”

Gravy nudges him again. “You just got off a plane, Caler. I got you.”

Cale goes to find a two person table where they won’t be disturbed. When he sits down, facing the breakfast nook, he can’t see Gravy through a crowd of businessmen. He’ll come around though; Cale is confident of that.

“Hey,” says Josty, bouncing up and down in the backseat like a fucking elementary school student as they drive to their favorite brunch spot in Boulder. It’s an off day late in the regular season, only a week or so left before post-season and they’re all so fucking tired and beat up that they agreed that mimosas were less of an indulgence and more of a necessity this morning. “Does Gravy creep either of you out?”

“Shut the fuck up,” says JT irritably, because he hasn’t had nearly enough coffee to deal with Josty’s shit this early in the morning. He flips his turn signal and waits to avoid hitting some moms and their kids jaywalking across the street as slow as humanly possible.

“What do you mean?” Kerfy asked, turning around in his seat. JT can’t believe Kerf is indulging him this early in the morning either.

“Stop enabling him,” he says to Kerfy.

Kerf and Josty ignore him. “I mean like, his hands are always cold?”

“He has circulation issues, you know that,” says Kerfy.

“But like, he’s always wearing clothing. Have you ever seen him without a shirt on?”

“Okay, but we’re not all exhibitionists like Cap or Willy.”

“Also, he’s tall?”

“Like, Tys, I know you’re a bottom, but topping and bottoming are just a social construct--”

“No, shut up,” says Josty, who is so deeply unembarrassed that JT is embarrassed for him. “Like, EJ is tall. And Z is tall. But Gravy is _tall_.”

“You are literally the dumbest person on the planet,” says JT to the cars and pedestrians around them. The moms and their kids finally cross the street and JT is free to get them a couple blocks closer to not having this stupid conversation.

Kerfy and Josty continue to ignore him.

“Also, he’s never where you expect him to be and he’s always around when you need him and sometimes when you don’t.”

“Oh yeah,” says Kerf, nodding. “That makes sense.”

“It really doesn’t,” JT snaps but he can’t help but mull it over. Gravy, always with a smile, always appearing in the most unlikely places, usually when JT needs him, sometimes when it’s deeply inconvenient. Like, when JT is trying to pick up, for example, and Gravy is there, smiling and tall and kind in a way that makes girls swoon. Gravy never picks up though, which just makes him annoying.

On the flip side, when JT needs to grab things that are just out of his reach, it is nice that Gravy always seems to be around for that.

“Like he’s a d-man and they’re all weird as shit, though?” JT tries.

“Nah,” says Josty. “He’s not weird. He’s just...there. Tall. Cold.”

“Friendly, though,” says Kerfy.

“Oh yeah, for sure,” says Josty. “Like, nicest guy on the team for real. He just creeps me the fuck out.”

“You would,” says Kerfy. JT doesn’t have to look at him to see that he is smirking. “Like, don’t pretend you wouldn’t.”

“Fucking absolutely,” says Josty. “Jesus Christ, I’d love to wreck his mouth.” He sounds a little dreamy. JT doesn’t look in the mirror to check; he doesn’t want to know.

“Even though you find him creepy?” he asks, despite himself.

“Yeah, dude, those cheekbones aren’t going to cut themselves.”

“What.”

“What,” mocks Josty. “You’re such a fucking loser.”

“I will _end_ you, Tyson Jost,” says JT.

“Bro, you just drove past the restaurant,” says Josty cheerfully.

“I haven’t had enough coffee to deal with you two,” says Kerfy with a sigh. JT flips him off and goes for a u-turn in the middle of an intersection.

“Just saying,” says Josty as JT parks the car and they climb out to get the brunch they so richly deserve. “He’s creepy.”

JT doesn’t mention that he thinks he saw Gravy walking down the street a couple blocks back, right when Josty started up with this nonsense. It seems disrespectful. Also, what would Gravy be doing in Boulder? He’s still living in the team hotel in Denver.

The three of them go into the restaurant, bickering the entire time about who on the team Josty should or should not be crushing on. JT doesn’t bother looking to see if Gravy is around as he holds open the door for Kerf and Josty. What happens in the car stays in the car. That’s the cardinal rookie house rule, even though they’re no longer rookies.

Cale does have to take his creative writing final and it is a poetry prompt and it does suck. He sits in his room after a morning practice, deeply resentful of having to stay in when the rest of the guys are out goofing around. At least the professor let up a little on him needing a proctor after Cale argued at length that he really, truly, would not cheat on a final, but particularly a creative writing final, because come on Professor Turtle, how would he even cheat on a creative writing final? They both know Cale is not smart enough for that.

He stares at his Google doc, at the prompt, at the last sentence he wrote, at the prompt again, at the timer counting down how much time he has left in this final -- 45 minutes, god, _how_ \-- and takes a bite of an apple Gravy helped him steal from breakfast this morning. He’s not sure why he took a creative writing class except that it seemed like a good way to get his art gen ed out of the way. He got okay grades on all the assignments but at what cost?

There is a knock on the door. He gets up from the desk to answer it. Gravy stands in front of the door, looking a little paler than usual, with a brown paper bag from 7-11 under one arm. He’s shivering.

“Bro,” says Cale, a little alarmed. “Come in, jeeze.”

He’s not technically supposed to have people in the room with him while he takes his final, but it’s Gravy. They’re friends now and Gravy knows when to stay away and when to stay close. What Professor Turtle doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

But what Gravy knows will hurt him, apparently, because he smiles tightly and hands him the 7-11 bag. “Thought you could use some snacks,” Gravy says. “I gotta go warm up. Good luck.”

“You could stay,” says Cale, trying not to sound petulant. “Warm up in my room.”

Gravy looks at him appraisingly. He looks like he’s about to disappear, somehow, pale and unsteady on his feet. “Can’t,” he says finally. “You know the rules.”

“Rules are meant to be broken,” says Cale and he really does sound petulant this time because Gravy huffs a laugh. “Not these,” he says, a little bit admonishing, a little bit reluctant.

“Ugh,” says Cale.

Gravy kisses him on the cheek and Cale feels like he’s been dumped in an ice bath. He gasps.

“Sorry,” says Gravy. “Sorry, sorry. I’m--I’ll go. Sorry.”

“No, it’s fine, I just--you’re so cold, man.”

“Yeah, gotta warm up,” says Gravy. He looks so embarrassed and he’s shaking. Cale wants to touch him to calm him down, to tell him it’s okay. He reaches out but Gravy shies away.

“I’m sorry,” says Gravy. “I have to go. Bye. See you for dinner.” He turns and walks away down the corridor to the elevators at a fast clip.

Cale stands in the doorway, staring after him, even after he is gone, until the timer on his computer gives him a 30 minute warning. He swears and goes back into his room to suffer some more.

Gravy got him Cheetos and Sour Patch gummies. Cale didn’t realize he was craving junk food until he rips open the bag of Cheetos as he sits back down at his desk to write.

It’s easier to power through the final with something more indulgent than hotel apples but the assignment still sucks and he still barely turns it in on time. In the end, his poem is littered with imagery even he recognizes is stupid about altitude sickness and loneliness. He hits “Submit” and goes to take a shower to warm up. He’s still cold from Gravy’s kiss.

His professor gives him a B on the final and a B in the class so whatever. Cale doesn’t have to think about college anymore.

Matt makes eye contact with Ryan Graves on ice once -- fucking once! -- and it feels like the pit of his stomach is ripped out of him. He’s breathless. He’s furious--no. He feels like he did his entire last month with the Avs, messy and unhappy and anxious and angry all the time and miserable overall. He feels like he did then, like he’s making a huge mistake but can’t take it back, like he’s doing what’s right but he’s doing it all wrong. He feels like he’s about to have a panic attack. He thought he was over these feelings; he’s been out of Colorado for awhile now. Sure, it’s his first time meeting the Avs while he’s a Sen and his team is losing, but that doesn’t mean he should feel bad about it.

He’s still unhappy for reasons he can’t identify.

Graves smiles at him, guileless. “You okay?” he mouths.

Matt shrugs, drags his gaze away from the asshole. Fuck this guy for making Matt feel like he did, however he did it. He looks weirdly familiar too, like maybe Matt has played with him before. 

Whatever. Matt doesn’t make a habit of paying attention to his old teams. Let the past be the past.

Graves scores on the Sens so maybe he isn’t that guileless. His smile is big enough to split his face and he doesn’t even look over at Matt’s bench to gloat.

Matt grits his teeth and just tries to stop the team from bleeding goals for the rest of the game. He fails, but doesn’t he always.

Cale kinda feels like he owes Gravy after the whole thing with the Cheetos, so he hangs around after practice the next day, waits for Gravy to catch on and pay attention to him. He noticed Gravy doesn’t shower with the rest of the guys, that he waits until the last guy has left before he showers. It’s kinda weird to be a pro athlete and still so shy about his body, especially when he’s got a face like that and hands like _that_. Cale would be naked all the time if he was as tall and hot as Gravy.

The last couple of guys head out, yelling their goodbyes across the room to Cale after they’re done harassing Gravy. Gravy looks up and smiles when he sees Cale. “Hey Caler,” he says. “What’s up?”

“You want to get coffee sometime?” Cale asks. He tries to sound confident, but he knows he’s blushing, like fucking always, with Gravy looking at him so curious and pleased.

“Oh,” says Gravy. “Coffee--with me?”

He looks confused which just makes Cale confused too.

“Yeah, sometime,” says Cale, a little hesitantly. “Like, I owe you for the Cheetos, you know?”

Gravy’s confusion slips and he looks sad briefly before he settles into something close to patient. Cale doesn’t get it, doesn’t get him, but he wants to.

“Like, right now,” says Cale, with all the bravery in his body. “Coffee right now. With me.”

It’s not a date if no one says anything and Cale doesn’t know if he wants Gravy to say something.

“Yeah,” says Gravy. Patience gives way to a bright smile. “Yeah, I’d like that. Let me get dressed.”

“Shower first, dude,” says Cale. He thinks that Gravy likes him, but surely not enough to skip a shower after a grueling practice.

“Oh yeah, right,” says Gravy. “I’ll meet you--where will I meet you?”

There’s a coffeeshop a little down the road from the team hotel. It’s cute and they sell good macchiatos and big chocolate chip cookies. Gravy promises to meet him there.

Cale goes back to the hotel and changes into something slightly nicer than sweats. He beats Gravy there but doesn’t have to wait too long; Gravy just kind of materializes in front of him while he’s still texting his freshman year roommate for advice on dating boys. “Hey,” says Gravy. 

Cale kinda squeaks which is so fucking embarassing and he puts his head in his hands. “Sorry.”

“You’re good,” says Gravy, sliding into the chair across from him. Cale looks up and frowns. Gravy is holding one of the coffee shop’s big white mugs filled with something that smells like hot chocolate. It’s late April and he’s drinking hot chocolate and that warms Cale’s heart, somehow.

“I was gonna buy,” he says.

“Oh,” says Gravy. He laughs a little, looks uncomfortable. “I wasn’t sure and you looked busy, so.”

“No, I was serious,” says Cale. This is going all wrong.

“I mean,” says Gravy. “You could buy me the next round.” He doesn’t look confident. Cale wants to give him the entire world.

“Deal,” says Cale with a smile and raises his own giant mug filled with decaf Earl Grey. At least he was right about it being the kind of coffee date where neither of them are rushing to get out with plastic cups of cold brew and melting ice.

“To a long run,” he says.

Gravy taps his mug against Cale’s. “To a long run,” he echoes.

“So,” says Gravy, when they’ve both tried their drinks and then each other’s drinks. “Tell me about yourself, Caler.”

Cale has been dying to tell someone about his creative writing final so he starts with that and goes from there.

He doesn’t realize he’s been talking about himself entire time until the barista yells that they’re closing. He also doesn’t know how he got another three cups of tea. He frowns. He was supposed to pay for the second round and they’re on their _fourth?_

Gravy looks at his watch and says, “hey Caler, want to get dinner?”

“I don’t know, will you let me buy?” Cale asks. He’s a little grumpy. He drains the last of his mug and stands up.

“I mean,” says Gravy. “If you want to. You don’t have to. I don’t expect anything from you.”

Cale boggles. “You don’t--okay. I want to. Tacos?”

“Sure,” says Gravy and they head out. Cale is dying to ask Gravy about himself, but then Gravy asks another question about college and Cale is off again, talking about the pranks his boys played on the douchebags on the lacrosse team.

Gravy asks all the right questions and pays attention to everything Cale says and his hands are only a little less than freezing when Cale touches them outside the door of his hotel and asks if he wants to come in and drink tea he’s been making out of the coffee maker.

“I gotta go,” he says awkwardly. “But I had fun. We should do it again.”

Cale tries not to feel disappointed. Gravy kisses him on the cheek again and Cale gets a headache like someone has just dumped a bucket of cold water on his head.

“Night,” says Gravy and he’s off down the hall before Cale can do anything else but shiver.

“Gravy, my big boy,” says Tyson, slinging an arm around Gravy’s shoulders as best he can when Gravy has got a good seven inches on him, “we want to talk to you.”

He can feels Gravy stiffen against him. “We?” he says warily.

Tyson squeezes his shoulder--again, very difficult given the height difference. It’s kinda hot but mostly annoying. He drops his arm and settles for bumping Gravy companionably. “The Cap, the As, and me. Don’t worry.”

“Okay,” says Gravy, relaxing. Tyson has always been impressed by how Gravy takes everyone at their word. He trusts people. It’s inspiring. Tyson figures he’s got a pretty open heart, but that’s nothing compared to the way Gravy looks at people and seems to know what’s going on with them, whether or not they are lying.

Or even whether or not they’re okay. “How are you, Tys?” says Gravy as Tyson steers them down the hall to the small conference room.

“Oh, fine,” says Tyson. “Trade talks heating up. Got a new boyfriend though, so that’s kinda cool.” He doesn’t know why he’s saying any of this to Gravy. The only teammates who know about the trade rumors are Gabe, Nate, and EJ. The only person who knows about the boyfriend is Nate. But Gravy’s just got that face, beautiful and curious and trustworthy.

“Oh wow,” says Gravy. “That’s great, Tyson.” He looks genuinely delighted for Tyson. It makes Tyson smile.

“Yeah, I’m pretty happy,” says Tyson. “Trade talks are kind of a bummer.”

“I hope,” says Gravy and then he pauses, brow furrowed. “Well, I hope no one gets traded.”

“What were you going to say?” Tyson asks. Gravy doesn’t have a mean bone in his body.

“I was going to say, I hope it isn’t you who gets traded,” says Gravy. “But really, I don’t want anyone to get traded. We have a good team.”

“Even someone who could open up a permanent spot for you?” Tyson teases.

Tyson doesn’t think he imagines the way Gravy’s eyes darken briefly, a kind of sadness flashing across his face in a second, then smoothing out the next. Tyson is a little confused by that. He didn't know Gravy felt that strongly about the team. Gravy never complained about being cut from the line up night after night; Tyson didn’t know how loyal Gravy felt about the team as it currently stands.

“No,” says Gravy, shaking his head with a calm smile. “I don’t want anyone to get traded.”

What a weirdo, thinks Tyson. The kid is so self-sacrificing that he'd rather not play than see the team change. Sure, they have a strong team, but Gravy can't let that stop him from making the line up.

“Try to be a little selfish, hey?” says Tyson, because he has to at least try to get Gravy to fight for himself. They stop outside the conference room.

“Uh, sure,” says Gravy ducking his head, looking embarrassed.

Tyson winks at him and opens the door. Gabe waves them in. EJ is leaning against the wall and Nate is sitting backwards in a chair, fiddling with his toque.

“We wanted to talk to you about Cale Makar and your position on the team,” says Gabe and Tyson is sure, complete sure this time, that he does not imagine the look of sadness on Gravy's face.

No one else comments on it though, so he lets it go. He lets Gabe break the news that Coach Beds is going insert Cale in the line up when Cale finishes his run in the Frozen Four later this season and that Gravy is going to have to work twice as hard to get in. The leadership team all try to give guys a heads up for news like that so they can go process at home instead of having a meltdown in the middle of the locker room. Lesson learned from past assholes.

Gravy takes the news easily, not hurt or angry. He is seemingly as delighted to have Cale on their team as he was to learn that Tyson has a new boyfriend. He’s animated when Nate talks to him about ways he can strengthen and elevate his game, when Gabe and EJ give him a short pep talk.

Tyson is impressed by Gravy’s good mood, but he can’t stop thinking about the look of sadness on Gravy’s face. He’s going to mention it to the guys later, tell them to keep an eye on Gravy this year and next.

He might not be around, after all.

Cale is so deeply asleep that it takes several long seconds for him to register that someone is knocking on his door in real life and not in his dream. It had been a nice dream. Gravy had been there and they’d been kissing. Cale had been enjoying the dream and he’s super irritated at whoever was interrupting.

Gravy is at his door, which is a welcome sight except that he looks terrible. He is wearing an Avalanche sweatshirt and shivering so much that Cale thinks he might disappear in front of him.

“Hey,” says Gravy. He wraps his arms around his chest. “Sorry to bother you, but. I can’t get warm. I thought I was getting warm but I’m not, I’m getting colder. I’m always cold, but I’m getting colder. It’s not supposed to happen like this. Sorry.”

He ducks his head and Cale realises with horror that Gravy is trying not to cry.

“Holy shit, man,” says Cale. He grabs Gravy’s wrist and pulls him in. His skin is ice cold. “Come on, come on.”

He lets the door slam behind Gravy and drags him to bed. He shoves him at it. “Get under the covers,” he says. “Like, now.”

Gravy nods, miserable, and crawls under the blankets--on Cale’s side, but that’s gotta still be warm from where Cale was sleeping. Cale feels a rush of warm affection for him and then a deep loneliness.

Cale starts boiling water for tea. He turns to look at Gravy, who is curled up tight under the covers, head pushed into Cale’s pillow.

Cale puts a tea bag in a mug, hesitates, and then crawls into bed. He takes Gravy’s hands, tries not to wince at how cold they are, and rubs them carefully. “You’re safe,” he says, kinda babbles, because he doesn’t really know what to say or do with Gravy looking so alone. Over 6 feet tall and he somehow looks smaller than Cale. “You’re fine. You’ll warm up. It’s okay Gravy, you’ll be okay. You can warm up here. You can stay as long as you like. The heating isn’t broken in my room. We can get someone to fix your room tomorrow. Stay here tonight. It's okay, Gravy.”

“What if I never warm up,” Gravy whispers. His eyes are closed. “I’ve been cold for years.”

“We’ll see the medical staff tomorrow,” says Cale. “I’ll go with you so you won’t be alone. I can tell them what’s going on.”

“You don’t have to,” says Gravy. “I can do it.”

“What if I want to?” Cale says.

“You don’t have to,” Gravy repeats. He opens his eyes and they’re impossibly dark. “No one has before. You don’t have to be the first.”

What the fuck. “What the fuck,” says Cale. He drops one Gravy’s hands so he can cup the back of Gravy’s head. Gravy closes his eyes, turns his head into Cale’s pillow. “Gravy. Let me help you. I want to help you. I’m your friend. I’m here for you. Hey, Gravy,” he says, pressing his fingers against Gravy’s neck. Gravy’s so cold that Cale is cold. “Gravy, look at me.”

Gravy opens his eyes.

“I’m here with you,” Cale says. He kisses Gravy.

It’s a shock to the system as always, going cold all over. Maybe even colder this time. He presses his lips against Gravy’s, traces Gravy’s lips with his tongue until Gravy sighs, opens his mouth so Cale can suck on his tongue. 

Cale is shivering when he pulls away because he’s cold and because Gravy is looking at him with loneliness and sadness and trust.

“Say something,” he says.

“Caler, I’m dead,” says Gravy.

“Uh,” says Cale. He’s not sure what to do. “Okay, you know what, I’m gonna call an ambulance.”

“No, don’t,” says Gravy. “Look at me, now, Caler. Look. I’m dead. I died in Quebec City. I died in Quebec City and I’ve been with the team ever since. No one knows that about me because they forget me as soon as they leave the team. No one cares enough to remember me.”

It makes some sense, like how former players sometimes look at Gravy all confused and stuff, but also like, no sense because unless Gravy is a zombie, he is a liar or worse, about to die from hypothermia.

Cale doesn’t think Gravy is lying. He chooses the option where Gravy is already dead. “I kissed a zombie,” says Cale, swallowing bile.

“No,” says Gravy, shaking his head. “You kissed me.”

“What are you?”

“I don’t know,” says Gravy. “Someone told me right after I died that I can’t move on if I’m cold. Cale, I’m always cold. Sometimes I’m so cold that I disappear.”

“Like a ghost,” says Cale. He’s okay with kissing a ghost, he thinks, a little hysterically. Ghosts are better than zombies. He tries to move past that. “What happens when you disappear?”

“I just have to wait until someone needs me again. Then I come back. Like when people need coffee. Or if someone needs to reach something up high. Or if someone feels alone.”

“What’s it like? Disappearing, I mean.”

“It’s dark,” says Gravy, shuddering. “Cold. Worse than winter. Worse than midnight. Worse than anything. I’m so alone when I disappear. Sometimes I think I’ll never come back but then things happen like, like when you needed help with the coffee machine. Then I come back.”

Cale watches Gravy go through the entire span of human sadness emotions in one breath. “What happens when you get warm?”

“I guess I move on,” says Ryan. “I don’t know. I’ve never--except for sometimes with you, I’ve never been close to warm. Sometimes with you, I feel a little warmer. Or less cold. I don’t know. I don’t know what will happen to me if I warm up. I’ll try anything, though. Caler, I’m so cold.”

“I’ll get you warm,” promises Cale. He is starting to get an idea. “Gravy? I’m gonna help you move on. You’re not alone. You’re gonna get warm and I’m gonna remember you.”

Gravy sighs. Cale kisses him again.

The call, when it comes, is unexpected but not unwelcome. “Joe,” says Patrick warmly. He puts down his fork so he doesn’t get distracted. It’s okay if breakfast gets cold; Joe is more important. “Ça va?”

It’s part of his continued campaign to get Joe to speak even a little French, if only because it makes Patrick laugh at how bad he is. It has made him laugh for years.

“I’m doing well,” says Joe, not rising to the bait. Patrick laughs anyway. “To what to do I owe the pleasure?”

“What do you know about a kid named Ryan Graves?”

Tragic story, thinks Patrick, heart clenching. Ryan had been full of promise. The surgery he’d never recovered from, the complications--poor kid. Patrick still feels bad. The kid had been an asshole but he would have had a solid, steady career in the NHL.

“Good defensemen,” says Patrick. “Wish he’d been around longer. He was an asset on ice.”

“I agree,” says Joe, musing. “He didn’t go too high in the draft, but he’s got promise.”

That, too, had been a tragedy -- that the kid had made it to draft day but not much further beyond that. Rangers had wanted him but they’d passed when they learned how sick he was, how unlikely it was that he’d make it past 19 years old. He hadn’t even made it that far.

“Why do you ask?” Patrick asks. It’s not like Joe to spend time thinking about dead teenagers from the Q. He’s got an entire organization to run.

“I’m thinking of trading for him. He’s got a lot of potential and he’s young. I want a younger D corps and I think he’d fit in when some of our older guys, ah, leave.”

Patrick frowns. “Are we talking about the same Ryan Graves? My Ryan Graves died in 2013. Which Ryan Graves are you talking about?”

“What?” Joe sounds like he’s shuffling papers. “Ryan Graves, traded from the Rockets to the Rampert? He got drafted by the Rangers in 2013.”

Patrick frowns more deeply. “Yes, my Ryan Graves was traded from the Rockets but he died before he was drafted.”

“What the fuck,” Joe mutters and there is more shuffling. “Tall kid, dark hair?”

“No,” says Patrick. “Ryan was short. Blonde.”

“My scouts are out of their goddamn minds,” Joe says. “I’ve got a Ryan Graves drafted by the Rangers, 6’5”, 220, from Yarmouth? Sound familiar?”

It does, but not for Patrick as a general manager or coach. It’s familiar to him as a player, some long-forgotten memory of a man on his team who was gangly and forgiving and kind. He can’t quite picture a face though, can't remember a name. He feels sad suddenly, alone in his house with his breakfast cooling in front of him.

“Ryan was from Yarmouth but he was nowhere close to 6’5,” says Patrick. “He was injured on ice when he was 17 and never fully recovered. Shattered his ankle and complications from the surgeries killed him.”

“Oh, fuck me,” says Joe, irritated. “I need to fire my East Coast scout, he must be reaching the bottom of the barrel if he’s making up players with real backstories now. This is so disrespectful.”

“Can I help?” asks Patrick. He doesn’t want to get off the phone. He doesn’t want to be alone. He wants to keep talking to his friend.

“Sure,” says Joe. “Want to tell me about any stand-out players you’ve got this year while I try to figure out what the fuck is going on?”

“Are you going to listen?” Patrick teases.

“To you? Always,” says Joe and they both laugh because they know it isn’t true.

Patrick goes through his entire roster because all of his players are great. Joe laughs and makes affirmative noises at all the right points, so Patrick figures he’s listening at least a little. It makes him feel a little less alone.

Cale’s plan might have some holes in it because his plan was sort of, just have sex with Gravy until Gravy is sweating, but it turns out there’s a huge difference between watching porn of sucking dick, actually sucking dick, and also Gravy is cold all over. Cale almost wants to call his roommate for advice. _Hey I’m trying to suck a ghost’s dick to help him warm up so he can move on to the afterlife but like his dick is really, really cold and I don’t know what I’m doing._

His roommate was super into Ghost Adventures and Buzzfeed Unsolved and all that stuff. He probably actually would have good advice.

“Okay,” says Cale, more to himself than Gravy. He kisses Gravy’s hip. “Okay, I’m going to do this.”

He has to do it. He has to help. He’s not like, the smartest guy on the team, but he got a B in a creative writing class even after he spent the whole semester writing about how snow looks in the morning and what fresh ice sounds like and how the sun looks on a frozen pond and what altitude sickness feels like and how loneliness can eat away at a guy, even when he’s in the middle of the Frozen Four, and a whole bunch of other stupid shit that his classmates hated on ‘cause he was just this bonehead hockey douchebag and that his professor tolerated because he thought Cale had some potential that was never going to get properly developed. Cale got a B and that has to count for something. He is _creative_.

Gravy looks super embarrassed and also weirdly super turned on. Score one for Cale in that, at least. “Caler,” he says. “Cale, you don’t have to do this.”

Cale kisses Gravy hip again. “I am going to do this,” he says, determined.

Gravy actually does have an orgasm, score two for Cale, but he’s not really any much more warm. Maybe a little. Not really though. Cale’s mouth is sort of numb and he has to get up and make tea for both of them while Gravy lies on his back, arm over his eyes, breathing heavily.

“That was cool,” says Cale, climbing back into bed with him and two mugs of tea.

“I, uh,” says Gravy. “I don’t actually eat or drink. Anything. I can’t.”

He looks over at Cale and looks even more embarrassed, probably because he’s been lying this entire time about drinking coffee and like, eating?

Cale blinks at him, decides not to unpack that. “More for me,” he decides and starts drinking tea so his mouth warms up. Gravy huffs a laugh and turns his face into Cale’s thigh. His nose is cold but Cale doesn’t mention it. He’s overheating from the exertion of his first time sucking a guy’s -- ghost’s -- dick so it’s a welcome cold.

“Why don’t you shower with us?” Cale asks.

“I got shot,” says Gravy. “It’s gross. I didn’t magically heal when I died. It’s this huge gaping hole in me.”

“Can I see?” says Cale because that seems like the kind of thing he should say. He doesn’t really want to see it.

Beautiful prescient Gravy says, “no, Caler. Don’t be gross”

“I didn’t really want to see it.” Cale starts on his second cup of tea. His tongue is warming up.

“I don’t want you to see it,” says Gravy.

“Great,” says Cale, relieved. “Hey, are you warm yet?”

Gravy pauses, seems to take stock of himself. “I don’t think I’m going to disappear,” he says finally.

Cale does a small fistpump. Score three for Cale.

John-Michael is watching game tape between commercial breaks in the first period and drinking a coke when he sees Ryan Graves for the first time. 

He nearly spits his drink all over the laptop when he catches close-up of Graves, jumping over the bench and into the game, long limbs graceful. “_That’s_ Ryan Graves?” he demands.

“Uh, yeah,” says Producer Jenna, looking up from her tablet. “Did you not look at the pre-game notes we made for you? It’s his first game with the team. He’s been playing okay so far, right?”

John-Michael ignores her, rewinds the tape. That can’t be Ryan Graves.

“Say something nice about him,” Producer Jenna continues, like he isn’t ignoring her. “First game with the team, playing decently, part of our bright young future, et cetera, et cetera.”

“Yeah, sure,” he says, not really paying attention. He zooms in on Graves. He looks exactly like a man John-Michael played with early in his career with the Avs. What the fuck was the man’s name though? John-Michael can picture the man’s face, but not remember his name. He remembers him being nice. Got coffee for people, always had a smile. Kind. A fucking stunner, dark eyes and cheekbones that could cut a man. Graves looks exactly like him.

He hasn’t thought about that man in years. The harder he tries to remember anything about the man, the fuzzier his memory gets. John-Michael is not even sure he could tell you exactly what year he’d played with the team, just that he had and that he’d been a hell of a good guy.

Commercial break is over and John-Michael is pulled back into the game, forgetting the man he’d played with. That period of the Avalanche is over now. It’s time for a new d-corps to take over, as evidenced by Barrie demolishing every single one of his achievements. He’s happy for the kids though, really. Records only exist to be broken and maybe Graves will be part of the record-breaking.

The camera closes in on Graves. What a fucking stunner, John-Michael thinks, and starts to take notes for the intermission report.

It turns out, however, that Cale does not have a magically healing mouth _or_ dick so when his alarm goes off in the morning and neither of them have slept and they have to get to the airport for a flight to San Jose in two hours, they’re both lowkey disappointed in addition to exhausted.

“Sorry man,” says Cale.

“It’s okay,” says Ryan. Cale had switched to Ryan’s first name at some point when he was fucking him. It felt weird to call him Gravy then. They were having a weird enough time without adding locker room nicknames into the mix. “I wasn’t sure it would work.”

“But you enjoyed it, right?” says Cale. He sits up, stretches. Ryan watches him, eyes dark but not, Cale thinks, any darker than normal.

“Yeah,” says Ryan. “Yes, I definitely enjoyed it.”

“Cool,” says Cale. “Want to shower with me?”

Cale can see the split-second where Ryan hesitates, like Cale is asking something more serious than both of them taking a much-needed shower. Cale doesn’t know what Ryan sees in him, to be honest.

“I’m keeping my shirt on,” says Ryan.

“Yeah, that sounds good,” Cale agrees and helps him out of bed.

Ryan doesn't warm up on the plane when Cale cuddles up close or at practice when Coach Beds puts them through their paces or at the hotel when they find a quiet spot in the guest laundry room and make out for a while.

"'kay," says Cale, pulling away from Ryan. He licks his lips. "We have to figure this out because if I am going to keep kissing you, my mouth is going to get hypothermia and that's going to suck."

"Yeah," says Ryan, a little breathless and looking kind of overwhelmed. "You want to keep kissing me?"

"I'm not doing this to be nice," Cale informs him. "Well, a little to be nice. You're like, hot as hell though?"

"I wish," says Ryan, frowning, and Cale has to kiss that look off his face until they are both breathless now.

When Cale feels like his entire face is numb, he pulls away and says, "I need tea."

There is a small cafe near the hotel not unlike the one next to their team hotel in Denver, except run by environmentalists. They sell socks with whales and hats with the California flag. Mugs with mountain lions and stuff like that. Cale doesn't understand what half the ingredients are in their white tea that they are helpfully calling "Great White Shark Tea." He gives up and orders Earl Grey, adds a pair of whale socks for Ryan, and sits down outside in the sun with him.

"Here," says Cale, handing him the socks. “Because you’re always cold.” Ryan startles and then looks pleased, a small smile breaking on his face. 

"Thanks," he says. "No one's given me a present before."

Cale tries his tea and immediately burns his tongue. "Not to be soft but I want to give you the world," he says. "And I am going to."

Ryan looks even happier at that. Cale leans across the table and kisses his cheek.

Ryan's cheek isn't as cold as it was earlier today. Cale frowns.

"What?" Ryan asks.

"Are you warming up?" Cale asks.

Ryan touches his cheek and then holds his hand up in the sunlight. "Oh," he says. "I think I am." He grins.

Cale is starting to get an idea and it doesn't even involve sex.

Gabe is older than he cares to admit -- look, he’s still in 20s, he’s not _EJ_ \-- but he has to admit the first time he meets Ryan Graves, the guy looks very familiar. Not in a way where Gabe has played a game against him, but in that way where Gabe played with him.

Gabe is pretty sure he would remember playing with someone who is, subjectively, prettier than him.

“Man, stop obsessing,” says EJ, slamming a shoulder into Gabe’s chest as they walk across the tarmac to the plane, Gabe frowning at Gravy’s back and trying to figure out where he knows Gravy from. “You look like a lovesick teenager.”

“I am not a lovesick teenager,” Gabe says, shoving him back. “I am a concerned captain.”

“Who is suffering from premature dementia,” says EJ.

“Shut up, EJ,” says Gabe. “First of all, I am certain I have played with him somewhere. Second of all, does he seem lonely to you?”

EJ pulls his sunglasses down so he can squint at Gravy’s retreating back. “Yeah, he does,” he says, because he can be a good Alternate when he wants to be. “What do you want to do?”

“Not sure, yet,” says Gabe. “I think I should talk to him, maybe see how he’s feeling about being called up from the Eagles. It can be an adjustment, switching between teams.”

EJ snorts. “No shit, Landeskog.”

“You know what I mean, asshole.”

They walk to the plane in comfortable silence.

“Want me to be with you when you talk to him?” EJ offers.

Gabe thinks it over. “No,” he says. “I think he’ll be okay if it’s just me. I don’t want to scare him off and you terrify rookies when you have your teeth in.”

EJ sticks his tongue out. Gabe knocks a shoulder against his and they board the plane. When he passes Gravy, sitting next to Barbs, thank God the kid has a seatmate, he nods and smiles. Gravy smiles back looking young and eager and happy.

Gabe is certain he has played with Gravy before. Where the hell did he play with Gravy? It wasn’t in Toronto, Gravy is too young, and Gravy wasn’t up in the majors with the Rangers long enough for Gabe to play against him. But Gravy--he just seems familiar. His play is familiar. His attitude -- happy, grateful -- is familiar. Shit, even his loneliness seems familiar, as if Gabe has played with someone who is both surrounded by people he likes and completely isolated from the team at once. That’s a hard feeling to forget.

He touches Gravy’s shoulder as he passes. “Don’t let Barbs get any blue shells,” he says kindly, because it looks like the d-men are setting up a Mario Kart tournament and Barbs is a monster when it comes to Mario Kart.

Gravy’s smile -- at what, being included? Gabe cannot figure this kid out -- is blinding. “I won’t,” he says.

Gabe winks and moves on when EJ kicks him in the shin and tells him to move his ass because it’s dangerous to be standing when the plane takes off.

Gravy is smiling as they make their way down the aisle, but he still seems alone. Where, Gabe thinks, does he know this kid from?

Cale's idea involves giving Ryan presents. Okay and also gay sex but like, that's secondary. An added bonus of Ryan warming up. Cale never thought that sex would be secondary anything, but it is, somehow, it is. Secondary to the stupid shit he buys Ryan, like a hat with the Colorado flag on it or a throw blanket with the Rockies logo on it. Secondary to the stupid shit he gives to Ryan, like a romance novel with a shirtless dude on the cover holding a hockey stick. Secondary to the stupid shit he does for Ryan, like hug him after a game or let him play Animal Crossing on Cale's phone. It all makes Ryan laugh. And he warms up a little every time, with every gift. Cale can feel it, little pinpricks of warmth like static when they touch.

Cale has got one last gift for him, because he can feel Ryan warming up, can feel that he's on the precipice of becoming something that can move on. He writes a poem on the notes app on his phone.

"Don't read this out loud and don't look at me," he says the day of Game 7 against San Jose, a couple hours before they are due downstairs for team dinner. He holds out his phone to Ryan. "Also, if you laugh, that's okay but be nice about it. It might kinda hurt my feelings but I'm not that great of a poet, so."

"Sure," says Ryan. He takes Cale's phone. Cale turns his back to Ryan and stares at his hands so he doesn't have to interact with Ryan while Ryan reads his poem.

Ryan takes way longer to read the poem than he really should, given the length of the poem. Ryan takes long enough that Cale starts to worry that Ryan hates it so much that he's gone cold and disappeared. He doesn't want to turn around to find out. It would suck if he'd been letting Ryan play Animal Crossing for a week and then Ryan disappears before he finishes the game.

He nearly falls over, then, when Ryan drapes his arms over his shoulders, kisses his left ear, and says, joyful and full, "_thank you_."

Ryan buries his face against Cale’s neck. His face is warm, normal, warm--actually, maybe even a little hot. He’s blushing, Cale realises with delight.

He turns around, sitting on his knees so that he is sort of eye level with Ryan. “You like it?”

“Yes,” says Ryan and kisses him, red cheeks and all.

Fucking when Cale has to be on the ice in like, five hours, is probably an incredibly bad idea and it’s not like they are perfect at it anyway, still learning each other’s bodies in the, what, three weeks they’ve known each other and the one week that they’ve been touching. But Cale feels, like. If Ryan is sort of not a ghost for right now and going to be move on soon, surely he should be allowed to cover as much of Ryan as he can, skin to skin, kissing every part of Ryan he can. And anyway, the novelty of kissing Ryan and not having his mouth go numb is not something Cale is going to forget anytime soon.

“I’m not going to forget what it is like to kiss you,” he says to Ryan.

“Just kiss me?” Ryan says, breathless.

“I’m not going to forget you,” Cale says and he is promising, he is promising Ryan this, Ryan could disappear by the end of the game or overnight or, shit, right after Cale has an orgasm, and Cale is still going to remember him, Cale promises, he promised him. Cale wrote Ryan a whole fucking poem promising Ryan that he would not forget him.

Ryan looks at him.

Ryan thinks, Cale is not going to forget me.

Ryan thinks, people have said that before.

Ryan thinks, maybe Cale will be the first to remember.

Ryan thinks, but people have said that before too.

Ryan thinks, but Cale wrote me a poem.

Ryan thinks, Cale promised.

Ryan thinks, no one has ever promised me they would remember me.

Ryan thinks, it’s nice not to be cold anymore. 

Ryan thinks, Cale did that.

Ryan thinks, it’s nice to be warm again.

Ryan smiles.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] Tender is the Ghost](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27593434) by [Annapods](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annapods/pseuds/Annapods)


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